The Mark of Dean
by redcolours
Summary: One Shot set just after 9x22 .


Dean's screams of protest ran throughout the bunker, radiating from the dark, closed-off dungeon. Most of the remarks were just plain old angry complaints, but every now and again Dean would yell something he knew would get attention.

"SAM!"

His brother could not help but look up...every time. Sometimes, Sam's body would jerk involuntarily, due to habit, he thought. But at least Cas was there, keeping Sam's will strong. There was something wrong with Dean, they both knew that.

Gadreel had died a few hours after Dean attacked. Both wounded angel and older brother put up a hell of a fight, but both found themselves either securely locked down in a cold, pitch black dungeon or lying cold on the bunker's large oak table with a giant rip across their chest. Castiel, with his deficient, stolen grace, could do little to ease Gadreel's passing. Although when two torturous voices became one, Sam and Cas couldn't help but feel relieved.

The blade, a problem in itself, was lying in sight so Sam and Cas could keep a watchful eye on it. As though it was going to explode at any second. At this moment they didn't know how to proceed. So, they froze. Sam and Cas were at a dead end. No angel army. Not even one fully-equipped angel. No knowledge on the blade's effects. No Dean. They didn't even have those irritating yet refreshing sarcastic remarks that, they knew, would have made the situation seem better. Dean would have given them strength to keep going, to keep fighting the good fight. He would have made the situation seem like just another monster they had dealt with a hundred times before, together. Dean would have given them hope.

Come daylight, all Dean was giving them was silence. This made Sam and Cas even more concerned and, after hours of Dean's pleads, all they wanted was it back. After a look of anxiety, Sam and Cas made their way towards Dean. Before they could get there to open the dungeon door, Dean started talking again, but, this time, his motive wasn't based on anger or even distress. Something had changed in his voice which didn't go unnoticed by Sam and Cas. It was almost like Dean was...upset. Cas interpreted this to mean that dean felt betrayed by his two best friends, feeling like a criminal being locked up, but Sam knew his brother better. Sam knew that what Dean was feeling was guilt: regret over Gadreel's death.

The stuttering, broken voice travelled through the thick, black door, where Sam and Cas were sure to listen intently to every word. They both thought that dean deserved that much. To be listened to for once.

"Sam?"

It seemed like in this one word Dean's soul was being expelled. A soft, lost syllable looking for its way home.

"Sam, please,"

Sam's face dropped. After a night-long collection of threats, curses, shrieks and even corrupt, screwed up promises, Dean had not yet begged. Particularly not with such emotion and passion.

"Sam, if you're there," Dean continued despite the lack of an answer. "Or Cas, you little weirdo. If you guy are still hanging around. If you can hear this I…" Dean trailed off as his head arched, bowing at his handcuffs and finally giving in to his prison chair.

"Please, can you guys just open the door? I feel like Count Dracula in here." Sam smiled, as a part of the old Dean shone through but both Sam and Cas stood their ground.

Now it was Dean's turn to smile. Typical, he thought. Sam, the do-gooder in everything, and, Castiel, the ultimate nerd. Of course they wouldn't open the door, but Dean still waited...for their familiar voices. For acknowledgement. Just before Dean decided to give up waiting Cas made the decision to turn and walk away which Sam copied. They were only just still in earshot when Dean concluded that nobody was listening and spoke again, more for himself than for anyone else. He just need to talk, even if it was just to himself.

"You...you don't know what it's like," Sam and Cas stopped.

"You don't know what it feels like. The blade...it, it gives you power. I wouldn't be able to describe it even if I tried but…" Dean took a deep breath, composing himself. A long pause followed in which Sam and Cas exchanged wise looks and had turned back and made a start towards the dungeon door once again. The silent tension drawing them in closer and closer with every second left untouched by Dean.

"Just…" Dean exclaimed abandoning his self-therapy session. "Just, just get Metatron" Sniffing loudly to avoid the inevitable guilty tears before continuing. "You hear me!" Dean raised his voice, to the same volume that riddled his words the night before. Definitely wanting Sam and Cas to hear this, he continued: "Just...leave me and go! Go and fight Metatron, okay? You guys can find him and you can kill him. You guys will be great."

This last line surprised all three of them and Dean couldn't help but smile again. After everything I still have a heart, Dean thought. If only I knew how to use it.

In the time it took Dean to find another thought process to fill up the lonely hours with, Sam and Cas had made their collective choice. A crack of light made Dean look up. Its gradual expansion slowly made Dean squint in order to keep his eyes from burning. Blinking vaguely, eyes focusing, two shadows were cast over him. Staring up, oblivious to any expectation he found the two most important figures in his life.

A look of embarrassment came over Dean, making him fidget in his chains. How much had they heard? Looking back up towards Sam and Cas, staring between both of them, Dean felt vulnerable, exposed and Cas' disappointed blues eyes burnt into Dean's, recently adjusted, ones.

As fear came over Sam and Cas as what to say to their damaged friend first, Dean, with his almost emotionless tone, broke the silence:

"Okay, the staring is getting a little creepy."

"What's the score, Dean?" Dean had kicked off the conversation and now suddenly Sam knew exactly what to say. The brothers stared for a moment, all their faults open for the other to see. Sam kept going, slightly mad that Dean hadn't answered him.

"One minute it's 'I'm fine!' and the next it's raging psychopath." Sam pointed out with a hopeless gesture.

"Come on! That's not what happened."

"Wasn't it, Dean? 'Cus that's what it look it looked like to me." Dean diverted his gaze away from his brother, knowing deep inside that he was right. Sam also turned away from Dean for a moment before returning, leaving it for a second, to let Dean look up again.

"Gadreel is dead!" almost yelling, Sam gestured once again. "He was going to give us a chance, Dean. To get Metatron!" Dean shook his head, slightly disappointed in himself but ready to justify his actions nonetheless.

"Hey, you don't know that! He could have been working for Metatron. Sam, this is the guy who killed Kevin."

"Is that what this is about, Dean? Are you trying to punish yourself!?"

Dean instantly chuckled at the absurd thought.

"This is serious, Dean" Castiel interrupted with his stable, low voice, making both Sam and Dean take a few breaths to cool off. "What did you mean before?" Cas said calmly, trying to keep the tense atmosphere at a low level. "What does the blade do to you?"

Sam was giving his overused, concerned expression and Cas was doing his signature narrowing of the eyes. Dean, feeling pressurised, didn't know what to say.

"I don't know."

Being subject to unconvinced looks led to a repeat of the statement.

"I don't know!" Dean tried to sound believable the second time. "It's a strange feeling, you guys wouldn't understand."

"Try us!" Sam spat back.

Dean thought for a moment on where to start.

"I get this high, and I have to kill. I mean I really, really need to kill...and the blade makes me...feel good-"

"About killing?" Sam interrupted. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"Yes!" Dean replied as quick as a reflex but with the voice of a child.

Exhaling deeply, almost sighing, both brothers fell quiet. Everyone had said enough.

"So, are you going to let me out of these chains or what?" Dean popped the million dollar question.

Sam and Cas both knew the right answer but neither wanted to break the bad news to Dean. They didn't have to in the end because their regretful expressions told Dean all he needed to know.

"That's just great," Dean said sarcastically, smiling at the ground and at his many chains.

"We will find out what the mark is doing to you, Dean," Cas replied, with an air of superiority and certainty that was always so annoying but now felt reassuring to Dean. But the prisoner was still in denial.

"I'm fine! Actually, I haven't felt so good all year but if you want to lock me up when I could be helping to kill Metatron, then it's your loss!" Dean's anger boiled and silenced Sam and Cas, who had nothing left to say. They knew Dean was unconvinced, delirious and was not going to be persuaded otherwise.

They turned to leave. Watching his friends walk away made Dean regret the whole conversation. It didn't matter, he thought, they were still just going to leave me again. Alone; to rot like a demon. A switch turned off inside him once again and he returned to his protesting persona.

"You let me sit here yelling to myself all night!" Sam and Cas kept walking, neither looking back, neither acknowledging the shouts.

"You guys owe me! Hey, I did the right thing! Guys, guys-"

The door slammed shut, muffling but not completely drowning out Dean's cries. The voice running throughout the bunker again, it felt like nothing had changed. Of course, everything had changed.

"What do we do?" Sam turned to face Castiel, no answers, no brother, nothing left to offer.

Cas stared with a pained expression, none the wiser. As Dean went into a disorientated rant about his justification, Castiel answered: "I don't know," abandoning all hope.


End file.
